


please open the door

by soulswimmr



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a kind of happy ending, Arguing, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minecraft but it's real, dreamnotfound, melodramatic bitches put ur hands up, no beta we die like the people of l'manberg, within the Dream SMP universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28379523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulswimmr/pseuds/soulswimmr
Summary: George is stripped of his kingship by Dream. Dream is forced to consider what matters more- his power, or the ones he loves?Based on the fantastic fanart by mioxart on Instagram
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on [this absolutely kickass fanart made by mioxart](https://www.instagram.com/p/CIkBc0tlIfO/) that I've highkey been obsessing over for a week. The coloring? The lighting? The poses? The ANGST? It checks all my boxes. Follow this insanely good artist pls. Thank u so much for letting me do this, Miox. Your work deserves a whole novel tbh.  
> Uh anyways, greetings Dream SMP fandom. This fic (and most if not all the ones i'll write) refer to the dreamnotfound within the Dream SMP canon, aka the hungry power tyrant x his knight, not the real people. However, if the creators state that they're uncomfortable with fanfics about them, I'll act accordingly.  
> Also, smash that next chapter button if you want an optional happyish ending!! 
> 
> As is tradition with me, have a song to go with this fic: [Lover, Please Stay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v78PSm1R7bg)

“Just say you hate me,” George spits, letting down his crossbow. Dream gawks beneath his mask, George’s words like a slap in the face amidst the group argument. He struggles to defend himself.

“G-George,” he laughs half-heartedly. Come on, he  _ has  _ to understand why this has to happen. “George I care about you, that's the reason I don’t want you to be king.” It’s the truth, it’s just the plain truth. The others disagree, their cries of protest muffling out his words, much to Dream’s chagrin. He sighs in relief when Punz agrees with his decision. There is no more kingship for George. Eret is going to be king again, because Dream needs him to be, and it isn’t going to be any other way. But it doesn’t mean he hates George.

He drags his gaze away from George’s face, eyes hidden behind goggles, but a tight frown reveals a bitterness that pierces right through Dream’s armor. 

“It keeps George the safest,” he says over Sapnap saying something nonsensical. “Stop trying to divide us,” he turns to his friend, trying not to lose his temper. This has to be done as democratically as possible, or he’s going to lose the ones closest to him. He can’t have Sapnap messing this up. They’ll be upset for a while. George will be upset, but he’ll get over it, right? This is what’s best. Why can’t they see that?

“He’s my king,” Sapnap protests, stubborn pride coming off him in waves. “He’s my king, but most importantly, he’s my friend.”

“Yeah, he’s my friend too, but he’s not my king. Eret’s my king,” Dream shoots back. This decision is non-negotiable, even if he sees George turn away out of the corner of his eye. “If you’re gonna be a part of our team, you need to recognize that.”

Sapnhap crosses his arms. “Well, whatever George decides, I’ll stick with him. If he wants to give it up—”   
  


“He’s not giving it up, I gave it to him in the first place.” And he can easily take it away.

“Who gives him power—? I don’t understand how this hierarchy works.” More chatter breaks out as Dream bites his lip, remembering his threat to Eret some time ago.  _ I give you power. I can take it away. I am at the top of this hierarchy.  _

_ And if I want to keep George safe, don’t get in my way. _

__ “The purpose of the king’s figure is to keep the peace, and Eret is good for that,” Dream explains, his patience running thin as his friends question now,  _ now  _ of all times, to wonder how this whole server works. “And George has been getting attacked, and he’s going to keep getting attacked, and eventually he’ll lose all his stuff, just for being king, and that’s dumb. So we’re done here. This is final.”

“You’ve made George sad,” Puffy protests. Dream scoffs.

“He’s not sad,” he says as they turn towards George, who seems to be holding it together quite well, if you ask Dream. “George is not sad.” George says nothing and hangs his head. “He’s not actually sad, he's just acting sad.”

They don’t listen, surrounding George with comforting words and half-jokes. Dream keeps protesting, waiting for George to shoot back with something teasing, but his right hand man stands in silence. Dream wants to walk over to him and rip his goggles off, see for sure that George isn’t mad, he isn’t upset. Instead, George turns and walks away, and Dream’s resolve starts to crumble.

“Alright, George, this’ll make you feel better, you’re a knight,” he bursts out.  _ My knight, my right hand.  _ “You’re a knight now. Someone give him a sword.”

“He’s getting downgraded,” Quackity sneers, and Dream snaps at him to shut up. It’s not a downgrade. There’s no position George could ever take that would be a downgrade. As long as he stands next to Dream, he’s untouchable.  _ As long as you’re my friend, you can have whatever you want.  _ George walks away. They follow. He keeps walking. A few fall behind. He keeps walking. Dream follows.

“You were only a king for a few weeks and you hardly noticed, that’s how bad of a king you were,” Dream calls after him. His friends sound their disapproval.

“Stop being a baby about it,” he says as they reach the throne room. He quotes George when he first became king, some dumb thing he said about not even knowing what to do with his position. Anger seeps into Dream’s voice, irritation that holds strong as George still doesn’t bother to reply to him, just hanging his head and walking away. He never knew why Dream gave him the throne in the first place, and  _ now  _ he wants it?

George removes his crown silently and is ushered away by their friends, invited to Mexican L’Manberg, whispered reassurances. Dream is left alone in the throne room, not even Eret around to reclaim his home. Dream sighs loudly and tugs at the strings of his hoodie.

_ “Just say you hate me.”  _ Could he be fucking serious? His home had been burned, his items taken, his position disrespected over and  _ over  _ again, a position he didn’t even fully understand until Dream took it away,  _ taking it away to protect him—  _ and he thinks Dream hates him. _.  _

_ “Just say you hate me.”  _ Is he jealous? Is he angry because Dream’s been away, monitoring Tommy, shaping him into his vassal? George  _ knows  _ who Dream is. He  _ knows  _ Dream’s rise to power, because he’s been right there beside him the entire time. He understands the necessity of breathing down Tommy’s neck, the end goal of all of this, and now he’s claiming that Dream hates him?

_ “Just say you hate me.”  _ Dream could never hate George. Never. 

Dream leaves the throne room and goes to check on Tommy, maybe to check on things, maybe to blow up his armor to blow off some steam. He’ll decide when he gets there. 

He makes it two steps out of the building before he turns around and groans. He’s not going anywhere. Not with this new problem.

He just has to talk to George, with nobody else around, then he’ll understand. They can talk this out, and it’ll be okay. Hell, maybe Eret will make an idiot of himself again, and he can reinstall George, and his friend will learn to wield his power a little more solidly. Yeah, that’s what will happen, Dream just needs George to see that.

The sun has long gone down, and it begins to rain over the SMP. From a distance, Dream can hear the conversations of his friends, Quackity’s loud voice echoing off of the stone buildings. Hopefully they’ve finished throwing George a pity party and remembered their self-imposed purposes and gone back to doing...whatever goes on in Mexican L’Manberg.  _ God,  _ that’s a stupid name.

Dream walks with purpose he hasn’t felt in a while, his confidence in his decision only shaken by the red string that ties him and George together. He has to make sure the string is still there. It is, surely it is, but he has to make sure, real quick.

He’s surprised to see that George is outside, his back to Dream, a watering pot held over the many plants that don his front porch. George hears his footsteps and turns, face lined with disapproval that only droops further as he sees Dream through the rain. Thank God he’s alone.

“Come to take my house too?” George grumbles.

Dream rolls his eyes, taking shelter under the porch awning. “Jesus, George, don’t be such a baby.”

“What do you want from me then?” George shoots.

“I came to make sure we’re cool, is that allowed?”

“Not up to me. You call the shots about everything, apparently.”

“Yeah,” Dream says, heart hardening for a moment. “I do, George. But I�— fuck. George, just talk to me.”

“Nothing to talk about,” George shrugs, moving on to the next plant. “Go torment Tommy or something.”

“Is that what this is about?” Dream throws up his arms. “Am I not paying enough attention to you?”

“Don’t be a dick, Dream.”

“No,  _ you  _ stop being a dick, George! I’m doing what I have to for the server, I’m  _ protecting  _ you! Do you not remember getting griefed?”   
George sets down the pot and glares at him. “Yeah, and I’m  _ fine.  _ But you know what I’m  _ not fine,  _ about? I watched you threaten to  _ destroy  _ Eret, only to place him up on your little pedestal a few weeks later. You keep going  _ on and on  _ about what’s best and protecting me, or whatever, but how do I know I won’t be exiled or some shit? Who’s next on your blacklist?”

“George,” a hint of desperation creeps into his voice without wanting to. “George you know me. You’re not going anywhere. You’re my knight.”

“ _ Stop it!”  _ George shouts suddenly, facing Dream with a new wave of anger.

Dream balks. “Stop  _ what?!” _

__ “Acting like you care about me! Like I mean  _ anything  _ to you!” George’s voice cracks. Dream wants to punch a hole in something.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Dream shouts. “You’re being ridiculous, George, of course I care about you! Fuck!”

“No,” George growls. “You said yourself. The only thing you care about in this server are Tommy’s fucking discs! The thing that gives you power, right? That’s all you care about. Remember that?.”

Dream opens his mouth to retort, and stops short. He… he did say that. He’d spat it in Tommy’s face.  _ The one thing I care about in this server.  _

__ “I have to care about the discs,” he starts. “They’re the only thing that Tommy has on me!”

“Yeah?” George counters. “There’s nothing else Tommy could do to hurt you than take those  _ stupid  _ discs away.”

“Don’t call them stupid.” The words are out of Dream’s mouth before he can stop them. It’s defensive, it’s way too defensive, and George looks at him with pure disgust.

“Right,” his friend says. “So  _ sorry,  _ Dream. Wouldn’t want to insult your precious discs.”

No. No no no no no,  _ he’s losing him.  _

__ “George,” his voice cracks. “George come on, you know that’s not all I care about.”

“Do I?” George asks, feigning innocence. “Because you do a real shit job at proving otherwise. Everything you do, Dream,  _ everything  _ is to satisfy your weird little power trip. You’d choose your power over me- over all of us any day. Wouldn’t you?”

The situation flashes in Dream’s mind— his server- no, his  _ empire,  _ or his friends? Would he throw it away for them? Would he throw it all away for George?

The scenario doesn’t make any sense. The building of his empire was never a one man job. George has been there, every building created, every battle fought tooth and nail. George  _ is  _ his empire. The power he’s gathered, the control he’s maintained, it’s all been tied in with George, it’s all been for his best friend. To throw away one is to throw away the other.

In the back corner of his mind, he knows the answer. He knows, and it terrifies him, the lengths he’d go to for George, the things he’d burn to keep him warm.

He can’t say it. How can he? Things weren’t that simple. No one was giving him that straightforward ultimatum like that. Of course Dream would give everything for George,  _ of course,  _ but no one is asking for everything, not that cleanly, and when presented with the question, he’s caught in the headlights, and the right words fail.

“Yeah,” his friend says, voice wobbling a little bit. “That’s what I thought.”

_ No. _ Without warning, George turns away and blows through his front door.

__ “George, wait!”

Before Dream can take so much as one step after him, the door slams in his face and locks with finality.

“George!” he shouts, pounding on the door. He’s not angry anymore. His stomach is tying itself in knots and his breathing is labored. It feels like he needs to get through that door at any cost, get to George, shake him by the shoulders and slap some sense into him. “Open the door. C’mon, George.”

He hears pacing from inside, and then a sudden yell, an angry shout, and the sound of porcelain crashing. Dream jiggles the doorknob.

“George? George! Are you okay?” his voice is etched with worry, heartbeat thrumming in his ears. A moment of silence, and he hears a sigh. He feels a pressure against the wood that slides downward, presumably George, with his back to the door. Dream tells himself to breathe. “George, I do care about you. I do. I have to do what’s right for the server. It’s not…” personal? It is, though. Putting Eret into power has nothing to do with power, the discs, the server, and everything to do with keeping George’s safety. But it hurts. He should know this. He had promised George kingship only to break that promise. 

“I have to rule, George,” he says, voice ragged. “I have to have those discs. I know what I said. I know. But I do care about you,” he says it like an unfinished statement. The rest of it dies in his mouth.

I do care about you, more than anything, more than anyone.

“George, I…”  _ I love you. You know that. _

__ Through the door, he listens to George’s breathing. It’s uneven, unusual. Dream is confused until he hears the softest sob, immediately muffled. Fists still on the door, Dream slowly sinks to his knees, head down. His mask slips off, clatters on the ground. George gasps for a moment, but goes silent again. Dream’s mask never comes off, not for anyone but George. The rainy night blows a cold breeze in Dream’s face, making him aware that his eyes are stinging.

One, two raindrops come land under Dream’s face. His throat is tight.

“George,” he croaks. “Please open the door.”

The last words George says to him that night are ragged, uttered through a bitter whisper: “Fuck  _ off. _ ”

The rain pours.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take ur hurt/comfort from George's POV, go, FETCH

George wakes up with the worst crick in his neck. He stretches a bit and groans, having fallen asleep against the door. There are dried tear streaks on his face and his head hurts from crying, but as he remembers the events of the evening, the pain is just a bit more numbed. That’s a relief. With the shock past him, he can now get over it. Do his own thing. Or, rather, whatever Dream has in store for him. His mouth tastes bitter. Dream.

Admittedly, it had been hard to ignore him. He had sounded genuine— distressed, confused, regretful, but it didn’t erase what he’d done. George has known Dream for so long, it just seems natural that Dream would always choose his wrestle for power over the loyalty of his friends. Without even realizing it, he’s pushing his team away, disregarding their happiness, the happiness and security they’d fought tooth and nail to have. He doesn’t have a clue about how to compromise. It’s like he still thinks he’s fighting a revolution, like he needs to be unmoving, unfeeling, like he has everything on the line.

Yet, he  _ did  _ say it was to protect George. Over and over. George hasn’t known a whole lot of peace during his reign, that much was true, but what does a monarch even mean during times of peace? So what he’s being targeted? He’s standing on his own, isn’t he? Why does Dream seem so adamant to keep George out of harm’s way?

With a sigh, he gets to his feet and glances out the window. It’s still cloudy, still raining, but light enough to indicate that it’s probably just dawn. 

He cleans the plant he’d knocked off the table in his rage and goes to sweep the dirt off his porch. When George opens the front door, however, the broom goes clattering to the floor.

Dream is still on his porch. He’s curled against the side wall, ivy dangling in his face. He’s asleep, but shivering violently. It must’ve rained sideways at one point, because his sweatshirt is damp.

“Dream!” George cries out, stumbling over and falling to his knees next to his friend. WIthout thinking, he puts his hand to Dream’s cheek, and feels icy cold skin. “Oh my God,” he chokes as Dream stirs. Has he been out here all night? What is the  _ matter  _ with him?

“George,” Dream mumbles, his eyes fluttering. “ ‘m cold.”

“Jesus christ Dream!” George reels. “How long have you been out here? A-actually, don’t answer that. Get inside, my God!”

Dream nods, arms hugging himself tightly. That’ll do nothing with a soaked sweatshirt. George has to get him in different clothes. Temporarily forgetting the bitterness between them, George focuses on helping Dream to his feet and ushering him inside, grabbing the discarded mask on the porch.

They get inside, and without hesitation, George is digging through one of his chests for a sweatshirt. He finds one of his favorite blue ones and stalks up to Dream, who stands in the center of his living room, utterly still except for the shivering, face completely blank. 

“Disrobe,” George commands. Dream nods and takes off the sweatshirt, revealing his bare chest, and making him shiver even harder. George presses the blue sweatshirt into Dream’s arms and takes the damp on.

“George, I’m—” Dream starts, but George cuts him off.

“No talking. N-not yet. Not until you’re warm.”

Resigned, he nods and pulls the sweatshirt over his head. George also commands him to sit on his couch, retrieving a pair of dry socks as well for Dream to don. He’s warming up tea when Dream, voice free of teeth chattering, speaks up.

“I’m not sorry,” Dream says. His tone is carefully neutral, but it’s still quiet. “For dethroning you. You have to believe me when I say it’s for the best, George. You’re not my king. Not today.”

“I’m your knight,” George walks back to the couch with two cups of tea in hand, rolling his eyes.

“You’re my partner,” Dream corrects, taking the cup of tea. Their fingers brush in the exchange, meeting eyes briefly, and George is trapped in the sincerity that stares back at him. Dream is somber, but his eyes are so intense. Some days, George thanks the stars he keeps a mask on all the time. Dream can be so intense, but only in the company of a very few. “The discs aren’t the only thing I care about, George. I care about you way more than some stupid music discs. I thought that went without saying.”

George sits down next to him. He sighs.

“But you have to rule everything. Even if it means screwing us over sometimes.”

“I do.”

He sighs again. Then he leans over slightly, resting his head on Dream’s shoulder. He won’t pretend to understand. He won’t pretend like this makes things okay, like he isn’t watching his best friend seeing a slippery slope to uncontrolled power and grabbing a sled. George doesn’t really mind being the bad guy sometimes, but he minds when Dream backstabs his way into ultimate power, further isolating, further radicalizing himself into tyranny. 

They’ll have to be watchful in the days to come. Dream’s team is starting to fracture, and if he wants to have any of his allies— George included—when it all goes to shit, he’s going to have to bend a little.

"But I'm not leaving you behind, George," Dream murmurs. "Never you."

George smiles a little. "Yeah, I figured when you slept on my porch all night."

Dream chuckles, and it's a beautiful sound, a sacred thing like his discarded mask on the table.

"Didn't mean to. I was waiting on you to cave and let me in," he says, a sly smile creeping into his tone. George scoffs.

"Well I did, just had to make sure you were at risk for hypothermia first," he hums, sipping on his tea. Dream laughs again, shifting closer so that their bodies are pressed together. There is so much to process. The stone of dread in George's chest, the hurt that still simmered, the worry and the doubt. But here, on the couch, he pushes it away for now, willing himself to stay in the moment, in the happiness that comes in the form of Dream's head resting on the top of George's.

_ My partner my partner my partner. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! And hey, if you liked this, consider leaving a comment? luv u xoxo


End file.
